I was born with 400 years’ worth of heartache scarred on my back.
Whips burns and lashes; everlasting marks because my hair is coiled tighter and my skin is black.
There are 400 years’ worth of shackles that bound me to just being the stereotypical “black girl”;
That bound me from experiencing the real world.
A world that typecasts a whole race because our people aren't seen as a people.
They say racism has died, but I think we’re living the sequel.
We may as well start all over and separate the restrooms and water fountains,
Because although its 2013, moving forward is like moving mountains.
People forget to realize that America is a misbegotten nation.
The motherland’s illegitimate adolescent that took until 1776 to make its declaration.
The illegitimate adolescent who’s brother is equality.
And whose whole generation is equated with frivolity.
Because how can a nation be prejudiced against its own kind?
Against the people of whom this nation was designed.
It’s time to break this cycle.
Break these shackles and step on our troubles with our bare feet.
And live the dream that Dr. King preached on 23rd street.